This old A&J from 2011 was based on a semi-true story. My young bride Rheta and I were married in the morning, on a Friday no less. The entire ceremony was a weird but sweet affair. Maybe I’ll give you the longer version another day. It was a small ceremony, attended by immediate family and close friends who were coming whether we liked it or not. After the deed was done, Rheta and I left for a brief honeymoon on St. Simons Island, Georgia. The wedding party went back to the Holiday Inn at Callaway Gardens for a late breakfast. Before we all parted, our friend David Housel slipped me a bottle of “cold duck,” a gift for the wedding night. (Rheta’s mother’s reaction was, “I thought he was a nice man!”) That night, in the tiny bathroom of the Queen’s Court Motel on St. Simons, I set about opening David’s gift. I had no experience with sparkling wine. That is a whopping understatement, but I don’t know how to say it any better. I unwrapped the cork and tugged at it. It actually was a plastic knob. It wouldn’t budge. I put the bottle between my legs and pulled. Nothing. Finally, I placed my thumbnails under the edge of the thing and began to work it upward. It didn’t take much. I want to say it came out like an Atlas missile, or a bottle rocket, but the muzzle velocity was much greater than that. No, it did not hit me in the eye, but only luck prevented it. Shaken, we drank to our future. The night got much better after that.